


And Now, We Walk

by Nerdylittleangelenthusiast (Anderseeds)



Series: Supernatural Works [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Curse Breaking, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Illnesses, M/M, Sex Magic, Top Crowley (Supernatural), Vomiting, Witch Curses, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Nerdylittleangelenthusiast
Summary: Crowley stared at him, and it didn’t take long for comprehension to reach his eyes. “Ah,” he said, a laugh travelling along his voice. “You need to fuck a demon.”“You don’t have to be crude about it,” said Castiel.“Would you prefer ‘make love’? ‘Have an impassioned union’?” asked Crowley, smiling as he extended the vial back to Castiel, now full.Castiel gets hit by a spell that can only be resolved through intimacy. Fortunately, Crowley is just a call away.
Relationships: Castiel/Crowley (Supernatural)
Series: Supernatural Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068692
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	And Now, We Walk

**Author's Note:**

> Note: some slight canon divergence that isn't... super necessary to know to enjoy the fic, but while writing it, I imagined Lucifer never conceived and Crowley never trapped Lucifer. He just got put back in the cage, and they got back to standard hunting shenanigans.

Castiel’s time under Rowena’s Attack Dog spell had been traumatic enough that he was always extra cautious when faced with witches. Unfortunately, this vigilance could only shield him so much from the unpredictable nature of hunting, and the witches he and Dean had dealt with tonight were powerful enough that he hadn’t managed to escape the encounter unscathed. Neither had Dean, who he practically had to carry back to the Impala over a shoulder. He was currently in the process of projectile vomiting that evenings dinner onto the seats and apologising to ‘his baby’ in what little reprieve the spell allowed. Castiel had tried to alleviate the symptoms while they were still in the coven’s house, but his attempts to render Dean unconscious or heal him refused to hold. Until he found a way to break the curse, he would have to hope a hospital could keep Dean comfortable.

The spell cast on Castiel wasn’t so immediate in its impact. He knew, vaguely, what it was, but not what it would ultimately escalate to; death, probably, though he was willing to court that possibility until he found a solution to it that wasn’t what the witch had arranged. To his immense displeasure, she’d decided it would be appropriate to punish Castiel by inflicting him with a- well, a spell that would only be resolved through sex, which he knew because she’d told him as much with her dying breath (granted, in far more crude terms). Sex was an umbrella for many activities, but Castiel had no doubt about what _she_ had meant by it, and nor did he doubt an unpleasant twist would present itself at some point. As she’d trapped him in the spell with her death as the binding agent, he knew it wasn’t one that would eventually fade. Spells that were spoken in ones dying breath were among the hardest to combat, and many couldn’t be fought at all.

But that was something to worry about after he’d arranged medical care for Dean.

He slipped into the drivers seat and turned the ignition. Dean attempted to provide him directions to the nearest hospital, but only got three words in before he was too busy expelling the contents of his stomach to continue. Castiel fumbled his way into the GPS app on Dean’s phone and used that instead. His own phone didn’t have it. He didn’t particularly enjoy having the voice tell him where to go, but it was the most reliable form of navigation for the city they were in.

He tore out of the gutter and hurtled down the street, going well over the speed limit. “Hold on, Dean. It’s just ten minutes from here.”

Dean responded with a grunt. For the rest of the journey, neither of them spoke a word. Dean, because he was physically unable to, and Castiel, because there wasn’t much point in speaking to someone who couldn’t respond. They were lucky enough to get away with encountering only one red light throughout the entire drive. Upon reaching the hospital parking garage and throwing the car into the nearest space, Castiel twisted in his seat to assess Dean’s condition. The only thing slipping over his lips now was bile. After that, it would probably be blood.

Throwing the doors open, Castiel hauled Dean out and half-dragged, half-carried him to the emergency entrance. Dean’s head was lolling and his hairline was beaded with sweat; his skin was pallid and his eyes were red from the force of his gagging. Upon seeing him, a nurse was quick to usher them in for immediate assistance, shoving an admittance form into Castiel’s hand as they went. Castiel knew enough about Dean that he could have filled it in with ease, but generally the Winchester’s lied on forms and he wasn’t good at coming up with falsehoods on the fly. He was going to have to get some direction from Sam.

Castiel gently deposited Dean onto a nearby chair and got to work.

* * *

As Sam had only been across town, pursuing an errant coven member, it didn’t take him long to respond to Castiel’s call for help. He was fast enough, in fact, that he arrived in time to fill out the rest of the admittance form for Castiel, which came as a relief as the nurse had been eyeing him while he copied information off Sam’s texts. Probably thought it strange that Castiel didn’t seem to know the person he’d dragged in from Adam (which wasn’t true in the least, but he sure didn’t know the person Sam had instructed him to write into the form).

He forfeited all admittance responsibility to Sam and focused instead on the notes he’d brought from the witch’s house, flicking through in search of something that could resolve Dean’s predicament. Witches weren’t known for their trusting nature, and for good reason, so the ones who weren’t nomads – like Rowena – could generally be relied upon to have a list of antidotes and counter-curses somewhere.

A hospital wasn’t an ideal place to do such research, so once Dean had been admitted and provided sedation to ease his vomiting, which only fractionally lessened, he and Sam left for the covens house.

“What about Dean?” asked Castiel as he slid into the Impala’s passenger seat.

“They have me on speed dial if anything goes wrong.” Sam pulled on his seat belt and started the ignition. “You okay, Cas? You aren’t looking too perky yourself.”

Castiel glanced at the mirror on his visor and saw that Sam was right. He was looking a little flushed, his nose and ears pink as though touched by the cold. He hadn’t even noticed. He was warm, but he’d attributed that to Vermont being warm around this time of year. 

“I feel fine.”

Sam gave him one of his patented looks of concern, the one with the wide eyes and a furrowed brow and pursed lips, and Castiel pretended to find the window very interesting all of a sudden.

“It really is fine, Sam. I’ll deal with it.” He watched the scenery flit by as Sam pulled out into the street. “We need to focus on Dean. His life is on the line; mine isn’t.”

Not yet, anyway, but if he gave any indication he was in mortal danger, Sam would divide his attention between him and Dean, and as of right now, Castiel didn’t think that necessary. He would deal with his own problem, in time. He’d persevered through curses before.

“Alright.” Sam sighed and turned into the suburbs. “But if you need help, you tell me, okay? I don’t want to lose either of you.”

“Of course, Sam,” said Castiel. If- _when_ he became a nuisance, or he started to deteriorate like Dean had, that was when he would seek help.

The house used by the coven was quiet when they pulled into the driveway. It was late at night; the darkest hour of the night, in fact, so it wasn’t surprising that no one had noticed anything amiss. They’d chosen this hour deliberately, and conveniently, the coven had liked to work during the late hours as well. Probably for aesthetic, since they could have done their activities during the day just as easily.

The interior of the house was just as he and Dean had left it. Some furniture upturned, hex ingredients scattered across the living room floor, corpses draped over the coffee table and couch, and a few holes in the walls from where they’d been thrown or swung and missed with a weapon. The witches hadn’t anticipated their arrival, but they’d been prepared all the same.

Castiel picked up the body on the couch and dumped it on the floor. Sam wrinkled his nose at it and stepped past to begin browsing the bookcase. The witch had kept all her materials in plain sight. Hadn’t been the sociable type, aside from her coven, so suspicion from visitors hadn’t been a concern- and what could they have done even if they had seen her spell books? This wasn’t the sixteenth century.

Castiel continued his examination of the notes. So far, he hadn’t uncovered anything of use, but they had a lot more material than these pages to go through. He’d only grabbed them because he’d seen the words ‘counter curse’ in the title, though thus far, it was looking like it was all theory; the woman had fancied herself an academic. She even _wrote_ like an academic, all formal language and a back page full of references (one of them was a website; witches convened on the _internet_ now?). If they were sharing their knowledge and resources on the internet, which Castiel had heard was very, very big, Dean would want to know. Though, how someone combated that, Castiel wasn’t sure.

“How does one fight the internet?” he asked Sam, who looked like he didn’t comprehend the question at all. He’d thought it straight-forward enough.

“Uh,” offered Sam, which wasn’t very helpful. “With… difficulty, I guess? Did you find anything?”

Castiel shook his head. “There’s useful information, but nothing that would help with Dean.”

“Well, I think I’ve found a few things that might have something.” He approached Castiel with a pile of books and papers, which he deposited on the coffee table. “Everything there has something pertaining to counter curses and defence magic. If we can’t break the spell with a counter curse, maybe we can use another spell that’ll counteract its effects.”

Castiel cast his eyes over the ingredients spread across the floor. “We’re well situated to perform either.” He abandoned his papers in favour of picking up a promising looking tome. “I’ll start on this one.”

The sun was beginning to peek in through the curtains by the time they’d found something of use, and over the course of those four hours Castiel had noticed his temperature increase. First in increments, which Castiel had initially ascribed to the rising sun, then in a steady surge that had Castiel feeling weak and dizzy and nauseous, and that hadn’t been quite as easy to make excuses for. For the first time since his brief stint as a human, Castiel was thirsty, his mouth dry and sore. He’d spent most of the evening trying to pretend he was perfectly fine, but Sam noticed when he poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen and frowned at him while he gulped it down.

“Cas,” he began, and Castiel held up a hand.

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Do we have all the ingredients we need for this spell?”

Sam continued to frown at him. “All but one. We need blood from a demon at least three hundred years old, in earth years.” He gestured to a patch of red on the carpet. “Which was _that_. I’m guessing you can’t just… vacuum that out of the carpet?”

“Unfortunately, that isn’t one of the gifts God gave his soldiers,” said Castiel, rising to retrieve an empty vial from the witch’s supplies. “I’ll summon Crowley. You put everything together and check up on Dean.”

Sam looked him over, his frown still in place. Ever the fretful man. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do that? I’m guessing you were hit by a curse too, so- so maybe it’d be safer for me to get that arranged.”

“No,” said Castiel, voice firm. “Crowley’s an opportunist, and we're not in a propitious position. I'll do it.”

“He hasn’t asked anything of us recently,” said Sam. “He’s been helpful.”

“He’s the King of Hell.” Castiel slid the vial into a coat pocket and started for the door. “Do you expect that goodwill to last forever?”

“But it…” Sam’s brow furrowed even further. “It _is_ goodwill, right? He’s been helpful.”

For all the reservations he had about Crowley, Castiel had to admit that Sam was right; Crowley’s goodwill for them _did_ exist, and it was why he'd been the first person to come to Castiel's mind. They had other options, but Crowley was patently the best one, one of their most reliable contacts, their sordid history and mortal enemies thing notwithstanding. 

“I suppose,” he agreed, with reluctance. “So, you have nothing to worry about. This is safe enough.”

Sam shook his head. “We could have pissed off witches we don’t yet know exist. This coven was a big one.”

“All the more reason for you to stay here and keep an eye on Dean,” said Castiel, making his exit.

He heard Sam shout, ‘check your car for hex bags’ just before he closed the front door behind him, and he did exactly that upon reaching his car, which he’d parked in a nearby convenience store car park to keep it safe during their ambush on the coven. It was free of any meddling.

It didn't take him long to reach the crossroads he'd had in mind. Within thirty minutes of driving, give or take, he’d arrived at a dirt road that convened at four points. The area was quiet. Somewhere far off in the distant, Castiel could hear a tractor groaning its way through a field, but that was the extent of the activity on this land.

He retrieved the necessary materials from his car and set everything up for the summoning, transferring his weight from foot to foot as he waited. To anyone watching, he probably would have looked anxious, but it was the heat his body was generating that was compelling him to move. It was rapidly tipping over into pain; a searing, if tolerable pain that racketed through his very bones.

“You _still_ haven’t grabbed my number from the Winchester’s?”

Castiel spun around to face Crowley and practically gulped down his own tongue at the sight of him, because suddenly his entire body was throbbing, every nerve alight with pain and sensitivity. The barest breeze flayed his skin and the dirt he was standing on dug holes into his feet. His entire body felt as though it’d been deprived of every drop of moisture. He wanted to curl in on himself and just barely managed to force himself not to.

“On principle,” he squeezed out.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “You look like you just stepped out of a sauna, Feathers. Are you looking for a fix?”

With considerable difficulty, Castiel shook his head and withdrew the vial, extending it toward Crowley with a shaking hand. The intensifying of his symptoms had come on so fast he was struggling not to be bowled over by them. “I need a vial of your blood.”

“Doesn’t look like the only thing you need,” said Crowley, stepping closer, and Castiel shuddered at the increased proximity, a wave of disorientation crashing down on him and practically sending him keeling over.

“Feathers?” said Crowley, inquisitive.

“The blood. Please,” he ground out.

Crowley regarded him quietly for a moment. A long, torturous moment, then he closed the rest of the distance between them. It was only when Crowley took the vial from him, their fingers brushing together, that Castiel realised what the twist to the curse had been.

The pain had receded. Just for a second, but it had, and Castiel knew exactly what the witch had intended he be intimate with now.

“Oh, no,” he breathed, staring wide-eyed at Crowley, who stared quizzically back.

“Oh no?” repeated Crowley.

Castiel closed his palms over his knees to gather some composure before he continued.

“I’ve been cursed,” he explained, and Crowley gave him a look that said he was foolish to have mentioned something so obvious. “The spell has… a particular requirement to be resolved.” Castiel opened his mouth, moulded his lips around a few, explanatory words, but couldn’t bring himself to push them out. If his face hadn’t already been beet-red from the heat, he probably would have been blushing right up to the tips of his ears. Maybe he was and he just couldn’t feel it through the heat already occupying his facial capillaries.

Crowley’s eyebrows inched ever closer to his hairline. “You aren’t usually one to mince words. Must be something deeply undignified. Would you like me throw out a few crass guesses, or are you going to tell me?”

“Intimacy,” he finally choked out, which really wasn’t much of an explanation, but he hoped Crowley would be able to piece it together and spare him the need to speak finer details.

It was clever, really: make him completely unable to cope with being in proximity to their most common enemy until he _had sex_ with one. He wished the witch was still alive so he could kill her again to demonstrate appreciation for her wit.

Crowley stared at him, and it didn’t take long for comprehension to reach his eyes. “Ah,” he said, a laugh travelling along his voice. “You need to fuck a demon.”

“You don’t have to be crude about it,” said Castiel.

“Would you prefer ‘make love’? ‘Have an impassioned union’?” asked Crowley, smiling as he extended the vial back to Castiel, now full. 

“I’d- I'd prefer you didn’t describe it at all,” said Castiel, pocketing the vial, his fingers trembling.

“I think I ought to get some say, considering you’re propositioning me," said Crowley. “Aren't you?”

Castiel pressed a sigh through his teeth. “More or less, but....”

He glanced down the back-most road and at his car, wanting nothing more than to hop in, stream his way back into town, and perform the spell to free Dean from his curse. But his own could be addressed right here, right now, possibly with just a few thrusts, and with Crowley ready and willing, he should at least consider it. If he wasn’t able to access Crowley after helping Dean, he couldn’t imagine allowing himself to be so vulnerable for any _other_ demon, and he wouldn’t be of much use to the Winchester’s if he wasn’t able to fight their most common enemy. 

Before he could reach a decision, Crowley made one for him by grabbing him about the wrist and dragging him for the vehicle. “I can see you have priorities that aren’t yourself here, as per usual. Get in. I’ll drive.”

For once, Castiel didn’t protest. Crowley deciding for him saved him considerable embarrassment.

He slipped into the passenger seat and threw Dean’s phone onto the dashboard, which still had the GPS app up. Once Crowley had set off, he focused his energy on repelling as much of the curse symptoms as he could. Which wasn’t very much, but even a little relief was better than sweltering in agony.

It wasn’t lost on him, as he sat there, that Crowley was extending him a great deal of trust by being in his vicinity. He’d almost killed the man last time he’d been cursed, and it was only recently Lucifer had used his body to torment Crowley. There was some unease; he could see it in the flick of Crowley’s eyes, the rise of his shoulders, but not as much as Castiel would have expected after everything. He was acting as Castiel’s personal escort, ensuring he got to Dean safely and in a timely fashion, and he didn’t need to. Castiel didn’t quite know what to make of it. He never did.

“So…” Crowley drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “After Squirrel has been dealt with, shall I book us a hotel room?”

Castiel closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. “If that’s what’s traditional.”

“For quickies? You don’t even know that? Oh, Cas.” Crowley clucked his tongue. “All that time as a human and you didn’t try to enjoy yourself?”

“I was busy.” Never mind that it’d never even crossed his mind to have flings. Sex was nice enough, but it wasn’t something he sought out; he just kind of… let it come to him, and if it didn’t, he wasn’t troubled by that. April had been a pleasant partner, but not so much so that he’d thought about the event much after.

“Are you a virgin?” asked Crowley, and Castiel peeled open an eye to look disapprovingly at Crowley.

“That’s very invasive.”

“I’m going to have sex with you _as a bloody favour_ ,” said Crowley, his voice rising in volume toward the end. “I’m entitled to be invasive.”

He couldn’t really argue with that. “No,” he said, turning to face the window instead of Crowley, so he wouldn’t see his nervous twitching. “I’ve… I slept with a woman, once.”

“Once?”

“Once.”

Crowley snorted. A little more derisive than necessary, Castiel felt. “No men? And here I thought Squirrel would have gotten drunk and propositioned you on at least _one_ occasion, and no doubt you would have thrown yourself face down like always.”

“What does that have to do with us about to-?” Castiel flapped a hand through the air, still not looking at Crowley. The movement hurt enough that he gingerly tucked his arm against his chest after.

“Just an observation,” said Crowley. “I’m glad he didn’t, frankly.” Why exactly he was glad, he didn’t explain, and Castiel wasn’t in any mood to ask.

“I’ll figure it out,” said Castiel, and then added: “The intimacy with you, that is. I’ll manage.”

“Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, angel.” Crowley shot him a tight smile. “I can ‘manage’ for the both of us.”

Castiel tried to cast him a dry look, but the pain was keeping his face pinched enough that he didn't quite achieve it. “I’m several millions of years old, Crowley. I _can_ figure it out.”

“And how many of those millions of years did you have a cock?” asked Crowley.

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it, lips pursed.

“That’s what I thought,” said Crowley with a laugh.

Sam sent him a message just as they were heading into the hospital car park, informing him of what room they were in and Dean’s current condition. Which was, unsurprisingly, bad, because things could never be easy for them. Castiel threw open his door before Crowley had even parked up and bolted into the hospital, racing up the stairs two at a time and making it to the room Dean was occupying just in time to see the man falling out of bed and vomiting a glob of sticky, dark blood onto the linoleum. He was so pale the veins on his temple were visible, dull blue against his paper-white skin, and he was taking short, desperate breaths between each shuddering gag. It was a miracle he was conscious at all considering he probably hadn’t been able to take a full breath for hours.

“Cas,” started Sam, but Castiel threw the vial into his hand before he could ask for it. There was a nearby bathroom, which Sam slipped into.

The burst of energy he’d had in response to Dean’s dangerously deteriorated condition receded as he approached Dean to heave him off the floor. He tried to lift him, hand curled around Dean’s upper arm, but failed and very nearly collapsed himself. Dean glanced up at him, but there was little awareness in his eyes. To be this conscious was probably taking every ounce of his will.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, leaning his feverishly hot forehead into the cool frame of Dean’s bed. “It’ll be over in a minute.”

“Now, this is just pathetic.”

He turned, and Crowley stood in the doorway shaking his head and clucking his tongue. A nurse hurried past, glancing in briefly and slowing her footsteps- but Crowley set a hand on her shoulder, whispered into her ear, and she hurried along. Castiel didn’t know if she was one of his workers or if he’d done something to her, and as drained and hurting as he was, he didn’t particularly care.

Crowley heaved Dean back into bed for him, then retrieved Castiel from the ground and slung one of Castiel’s arms around his shoulders to prevent him from toppling over. The relief that came with contact was immediate. Despite himself, Castiel leaned into Crowley with a sigh, his head lulling against Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley responded by slipping a hand over Castiel’s neck and spreading his fingers across the hot flesh there. That drew a much less dignified sound and Castiel hadn’t enough presence of mind to be humiliated by it.

“My, my, you are in bad straits.” Crowley eyed the bathroom door, where Sam’s faint muttering could be heard. “I’m guessing you’ll want to stick around to see this to its conclusion, despite knowing what that is.”

Castiel didn’t respond. He knew Crowley didn’t need an answer.

With a sigh, Crowley guided him over to a chair and sat down, practically pulling Castiel into his lap. Castiel only managed to get out half a complaint about this before melting into Crowley as Crowley slid his palm around to the back of his neck. He was partially standing, one leg at an angle between Crowley’s knees, but still draped over Crowley’s thighs enough that he found the position embarrassing.

A few minutes passed before Dean took a shuddering breath and arched his back off the mattress, quivering in place. He held there for a few seconds, then expelled one last lot of blood onto his bed sheets and collapsed, panting and blinking rapidly. He looked like a man who’d just breached the surface of a torrenting river after a desperate struggle for survival.

Castiel threw himself and Crowley upright before Dean could get a good look at what position they were in.

“Dean,” he said quietly.

Dean looked blearily over to him before the sound of Sam hurrying to his bedside diverted his attention. When he opened his mouth, tried to form words, he wasn’t able to produce anything substantial; just a few, rattling breaths.

“Fantastic,” boomed Crowley, which brought an end to the sombre moment of relief. His hand lingered on the back of Castiel’s neck as he stood at his side. “Squirrel’s alive, Moose is here to ensure he stays that way, and Feathers- he needs a little help himself, from me, which we’ll be heading off to address right now. Unless you have some poignant words you desperately need to exchange before I save his life?”

‘Save his life’ certainly caught Sam and Dean’s attention. Again, Dean tried to speak to no success, throwing up his hands when again he produced only a miserable little rattle.

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Sam, and Crowley gave him an exasperated look.

“I wouldn’t be ‘saving his life’ if he wasn’t going to be, would I? Honestly, Moose.”

Sam huffed a breath out of his nose and looked worriedly to Cas. “If you need anything, I’m just a phone call away, okay Cas?”

“I’ll be alright,” he said, trying for a reassuring expression. He’d never quite mastered being manual with his face, so he wasn’t sure how successful he was.

“Yes, he will be,” said Crowley. “Because, again, I’m going to _save his life_.”

“Okay, got it,” said Sam, raising his hands in surrender. “Go and do whatever it is you need to do, and if you need anything-“ He paused, looking between Castiel and Crowley. “If either of you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Without further preamble, Crowley strengthened his hold on Castiel’s nape and with a click of his fingers, Castiel found himself standing before a lavish four poster bed in an otherwise plain, concrete room. He recognised immediately where they were. Not the hotel Crowley had spoken of on the drive to the hospital, that was for sure.

“You don’t need to sleep,” he said, wobbling against Crowley, his legs threatening to buckle. He forced them straight through sheer will.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like to lounge,” said Crowley.

There wasn’t any time to prepare himself for what was about to happen: with a hard shove, he was thrown onto the bed, his calves bouncing against the edge of the mattress before he landed flat on his back. Crowley was upon him a moment later, crawling up his body, settling on his hips, seeming amused by the startled look he’d brought to Castiel’s face.

“I’m not one to dally,” he said while wrenching aside the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat and pulling it down over Castiel’s shoulders. There was something oddly perfunctory about it. “Things to do, drinks to have, angels to fantasise about fucking again under better circumstances. You know how it is.”

Castiel spluttered, which wasn’t the response he’d intended, but he was dizzied enough that it was the only one he could manage.

Those surprisingly nimble fingers popped his buttons and pressed his layers aside, unveiling first a chest, then his navel, then the dip between his hips as Crowley peeled open his trousers and threw his belt aside. Castiel grabbed Crowley’s wrist before he could reach into his underwear, shaking and uncaring that Crowley would know it.

“Slower,” he said, gutturally. Not because he didn’t enjoy Crowley’s touches, rough though they were, but because every touch felt as though it was being applied to the very core of him and it was too fast, too much. He’d finish in his pants if Crowley wasn’t careful.

“Almost sounds romantic,” said Crowley, with a touch of bitterness that made Castiel frown. “I’ll slow down, but I really would rather get this done.”

“Crowley.” His breaths stuttered as Crowley’s hands slowed, running slow and considerate over the rises of his public bone. He rose into the touch, eyelashes fluttering. “I’m-“ Suddenly, he felt compelled to say: “I’m sorry.”

Crowley glanced up at him, brow pinched. “For?”

“This.” It was obvious Crowley wasn’t as enthusiastic as Castiel had thought he would be. It was odd, to realise he didn’t mind this as much as Crowley did, that he was less emotionally compromised. “If I could go to anyone else-“

“You think that’s what I want?” Crowley leaned down, weight pressing into Castiel’s torso. “You to go and fuck _another_ demon? Castiel, I’ve thought you a fool, but never an _idiot_.”

“Wh-what does…?” His words briefly failed as he felt Crowley’s groin against his hip, the bulge of his cock so tantalising that it made him groan and arch. Crowley’s hands closed over his waist, holding him down against the blankets. “What,” he tried again, once he’d recovered enough composure to continue speaking. “Does that mean?”

Crowley examined him in silence for a long time, holding Castiel in place so he couldn’t seek the touch of Crowley’s arousal again. “We’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we? I’ve seen you at your lowest points. I’ve seen you at your highest.” He started to move again, thumbs rubbing circles into Castiel’s over-sensitised skin, drawing a series of jumping shivers. “I’ve seen how fiercely you can care, and how fiercely you can love, and – haven’t you wondered why I’m nice to you, why I let you get away with things, despite you consistently doing _shit all_ for me? _Less_ than shit all, frankly.”

“Not the- the way I would have phrased it,” said Castiel raggedly, tearing his nails into Crowley’s shoulders. "Tell me.”

"Nothing is ever easy with your angels, is it," said Crowley, exasperated."You always need to be led by the hand." A quick glance behind him, at the door, like he was afraid someone was eavesdropping, then Crowley spoke again. “For you to have even a fraction of the fondness for me that you have for the Winchester’s, that would have been…”

Crowley pressed his lips together, didn’t seem able to let himself be any more vulnerable than he already was, but it was slowly dawning on Castiel what Crowley had been building up to, and he struggled through his arousal to properly appreciate the confession. The realisation that Crowley was genuinely fond of him and wanted reciprocation, even just a little, certainly put his generosity and playfulness in a new light. 

“And now here we are,” continued Crowley, his voice strained. “And you aren’t even willing.”

“I- I am willing,” said Castiel, between gasping breaths. “I chose you.” Crowley snorted at this, so Castiel tried to centre enough of himself to find the right words. “ _Listen_ to me, Crowley: I could have demanded someone else, but I chose you, because you were the only demon I could imagine doing this with.” He jerked Crowley closer, in a movement that was distinct from the desperation the curse compelled. “Maybe this isn't exactly what you wanted, but that doesn’t happen without trust, and that doesn’t happen without fondness.”

A trust and fondness he hadn’t even realised he’d developed. The things a little intimacy could reveal. 

“And I didn’t come to you of my own volition,” he added. “But you’re the only one I’ve ever propositioned.”

Crowley’s lips quirked a little, at that. “Can’t say that doesn’t help.”

"Good," said Castiel. "You have to... spell these things out for me, for future reference."

"I'm aware. It's just not my forte to spell such things out." Crowley tilted his head thoughtfully, eyes raking down the mess he'd made of Castiel. “But seems it was worth the effort, in this instance. I’ll make this memorable so you do voluntarily come to me next time.”

“I welcome the attempt,” said Castiel, relaxing his grip and pressing up toward Crowley, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

After that revelation, Crowley took his time undressing the both of them, running his hands down the skin he unveiled and applying his lips to Castiel’s throat and nipples and belly. Castiel returned the interest, digging his fingers into sensitive places and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to whatever flesh was nearest. Once their pants were shucked, Crowley reached over him to retrieve lubrication from his bedside drawer and Castiel almost screamed, overwhelmed, when Crowley slid two fingers into him right up to the knuckle.

“Aren’t you a pretty one,” he murmured, spreading the lubrication throughout Castiel’s silky insides with twists of his fingers. “Bet you’re about to look like a masterpiece.”

Castiel curled his legs around his waist and panted against Crowley’s throat. “Aren’t bad yourself,” he managed, just barely.

He was deprived of the ability to speak at all when Crowley’s fingers scraped persistently over a cluster of sensitive nerves within him. A place he hadn’t even known existed until now, and it made him throw his head back and let out one long, keening note that was made even louder by the concrete walls. His heels dug into Crowley’s waist and his calves and thighs trembled. With how needily he was pressing down on those fingers, seeking further pressure on that wonderful place within him, Crowley was barely able to keep his arm wedged between them.

Only once he was good and relaxed did Crowley withdraw his fingers and replace them with the dull head of his cock. He buried himself into the crook of Castiel’s neck, hot breaths skating over his sweaty skin, and then slowly, wonderfully slow, he pressed his way inside. Castiel held onto him like a man clinging to a piece of driftwood, his head fuzzy with the intensity of that hot slide. His blood buzzed under his skin as Crowley’s pelvis settled against his ass and it compelled him to shift every part of his body; his limbs, his head, his fingers and toes, all moving as though he were an insect pinned down for examination, helpless and overwrought.

Crowley leaned over him, and instead of beginning to thrust, he pressed his lips to the warm crown of Castiel’s head. “You feel as good as I’ve always wondered,” he murmured, his beard scraping pleasantly against Castiel’s scalp. “Still want me to go slow?”

Castiel pressed out a trembling breath. “Faster,” he murmured.

So Crowley began to move, going at a pace fast enough to be satisfying, but slow enough to prevent Castiel from finishing too soon. Castiel closed an arm over his back, hand spread between his shoulder blades to keep them both steady as Crowley rocked into him. There was warm, sweaty skin under his fingers, and then under his nails when the head of Crowley’s cock drove into his prostate. He raised his hips into Crowley’s next thrust, pulling them stomach to stomach, and he felt the tremors that ran through Crowley, knew he wasn’t the only one vulnerable and stretched thin here.

There was a steady climb to the speed that Crowley rocked into him. First, the bed was still, then the mattress began to breathe, and then the headboard was smacking delicately into the wall with every one of Crowley’s thrusts. Castiel was too far gone by that point to notice, rocking back into Crowley with just as much vigour, digging his heels into Crowley’s back hard enough to bruise and scraping his nails down Crowley’s back until he broke skin.

He ran his mouth eager against Crowley’s as he finished, crying out past Crowley’s lips, filling Crowley with heat and contentment while Crowley gave three final, jarring thrust and filled him with his own.

They sunk to the mattress after, both breathless, damp and panting; both aching and exhausted in ways that were traditionally unpleasant, but only contributed to their contentment here. Castiel didn’t remove his arm from Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley didn’t slip out from him. They lay there in silence for a long time before Castiel gathered enough strength to speak.

“Better than my first time.” He closed his eyes, eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. “And you, presumably, aren’t going to try to kill me after.”

“Not unless you try to move me in the next twenty minutes,” muttered Crowley.

“I can spare twenty.” The afterglow of sex was just as pleasant a daze as he remembered. He wasn’t interested in vacating the bed just yet either.

“Good.” Crowley lazily pressed his lips to Castiel’s jaw. “Feeling better?”

“To say the least.”

“That good, hm? You’ll make me blush.”

Castiel snorted. “I’ve enjoyed most sexual ventures I’ve had. This one was…” He took a moment to consider an appropriate description. “Particularly memorable.”

“Clearly the witch’s plan backfired,” said Crowley with a laugh.

* * *

It wasn’t the first time Castiel had ‘fraternised’ with a demon in this way. There had been Meg; surprisingly sweet and intensely passionate Meg, and he still missed her at times. That Crowley was the King of Hell and someone he’d had a relationship of varied amicability made their union more complicated than his and Meg’s had been, but that didn’t repel him; maybe even intrigue him a little, if he was honest.

He found himself in Crowley’s bed again, this time through his own volition. It was just as good as before, just as hot and fulfilling, and contrary to what he had expected, the weight of his self-loathing eased instead of increased when he was with Crowley, when he was called beautiful or perfect in the throes of passion or simply indulged in friendly banter. The sorts of things the stress-laden lives of the Winchester’s often didn’t have time for, and he hadn’t realised just how much he needed it.

Crowley gave him his number after their second time together.

“That’s not just for booty calls,” he told him, then he was gone.

It took Castiel much less time than he'd expected to call Crowley for something other than sex, and he was glad he did.


End file.
